


Control

by sparrowshellcat



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-14
Updated: 2012-07-14
Packaged: 2017-11-09 22:25:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrowshellcat/pseuds/sparrowshellcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott keeps control over everything - he has to. Logan tends to think that maybe Scott needs to just let go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Control

**Author's Note:**

> This story was done for the X-Men Reverse Big Bang 2012, and is based on the AMAZING artwork by scottxlogan, which can be seen [here](http://scottxlogan.dreamwidth.org/366.html#cutid1).
> 
> \---
> 
> For more fic and art, you can follow me on Tumblr! [sparrowshellcat](http://sparrowshellcat.tumblr.com)

Scott Summers was a man in control.

He had to be.

After all, maybe other mutants had developed mutations that they didn't have to actively think about, some even had mutations that acted completely free from intervention on the part of the mutant themselves. Storm didn't have to try to create sunny weather when she'd had a good day, it just happened. Charles didn't have to actively try to read the minds of his students – just by _being there_ he could detect their surface thoughts.

But Scott had to constantly think about his mutation. He couldn't turn it _off_ , it was always _there,_ like a viper waiting for him to let down his guard so that it could strike.

Scott had learned a long time ago, to keep his goggles on, or maybe his glasses, if he thought it was safe to risk that.

He had to get used to seeing the world through red quartz glasses.

But _that_ was control.

“Hey,” Jean said to him, one night, as they lay in bed. Scott was marking physics papers, she was reading a beat up paperback that he was pretty sure she'd read a thousand times before. He glanced up from his papers, which he had to mark in black. Red pen would just be more red upon more red, lost in the crimson. Even looking up at his wife, he knew that her hair was a scarlet tumbling of curls around her shoulders, but to him, they were just red on the red of her skin and the red of her eyes and the red of her smile. Scott lived in a world of shadows, not colours. “Are you okay?”

Scott hesitated, surprised. “Of course I am. Why do you ask?”

“Because you're trying so hard to not think that you're giving me a headache,” she smiled, reaching out to curl her lean fingers against the side of his neck, brushing her thumb along the line of his jaw. “So something _has_ to be bothering you.”

_Hard to keep secrets from someone that can read your mind._

But Scott still had control. So she didn't get his concerns over her flirting with that newcomer, Logan. She didn't get to learn that this afternoon he'd made his palms bleed by clenching his hands so tightly he'd cut himself with his nails. He loved his wife, he did, but his irrational jealously when he saw her run her fingers across Logan's leather jacketed shoulders didn't really need to be shared.

Jean's hand dropped off of his shoulder, and she smiled faintly. “Well, when you feel like sharing, tell me.”

“Of course, Jean.” He lied.

“Are you going to stay up much longer? I have an early morning, and...”

“No, marking can wait until tomorrow.” He said, setting the stack of tests aside, and flicking the lamp off. Beside him, Jean settled in for the night, and Scott watched her as she tugged the blanket up as she lay on her side, the gentle curve of her back just visible in the darkness of the room. He sighed softly, then settled back to stare up at the ceiling, exerting his control to press every thought as deep as he could. The last thing he needed was to dream about this, when Jean could see.

His control, he was afraid, was slipping.

He hadn't been jealous of his wife touching another man.

He'd been jealous that she was touching _him_.

\---

This school was stifling.

Logan could get over the forcible rescue, he could even get over waking up in a hospital with a doctor performing tests on him. He'd woken to worse. Hell, once he'd woken up to an absolutely terrified coroner who had been performing an autopsy on an alleged DOA. Logan didn't know how his mutation worked – he just knew how to get it to do what he needed it to – he just knew that it did. The bald guy said he could help find the key to his past, so Logan was willing to stick around for a little while, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Besides, he should make sure the kid settled in. He knew a runaway when he saw one. She deserved a place.

All the same though, he didn't like the school itself. It was too old school money, old world charm, and restrictive New England rules. Got under his skin, festered like a wound.

Chewing on an unlit cigar – they wouldn't let him actually smoke here, dammit – Logan headed through the halls, just watching.

He was a big believer in always having a way out. He generally ran into situations without much of a plan, but he always wanted a way out, even if that way out was just ‘these men are ill-prepared and I can kill them all in minutes', but that particular plan seemed like a bad idea, here. Oh sure, it would _work_ , but they were children. So he was watching the teachers and students themselves, looking for anything that could be used to his advantage, and the building itself.

The professor had suggested that maybe he'd find a 'home' for himself here, that maybe all Logan had been looking for was a safe place. He doubted that. He didn't remember his own past, but he knew he'd found 'safe places' before, but they never stayed safe long.

Logan had a habit of pushing his boundaries.

'Safe' wasn't a life worth living.

He paused outside the door of one of the classrooms, one that he and the Prof had stood outside, earlier, when baldy was trying to convince him to stay. The same man from before was there, though the red-headed doctor wasn't, now, and he was writing complicated looking notes on the whiteboard as the students scribbled them down.

Well, he didn't really have anything better to do...

Logan leaned on the wall opposite the door just out of sight of the students, but well in the view of the teacher, should he choose to look. Arms crossed over his chest, Logan clamped his teeth down on his cigar, and considered the man.

Scott Summers, he'd been introduced as. Cyclops.

Yesterday was a bit of a blur, all things considered, but he remembered something about this man blasting that animal man that had attacked him and Rogue, with some kind of attack from his eyes. Red, all powerful. Lasers, maybe? He wasn't sure if the 'Cyclops' bit came from the attack itself, or from that ridiculous looking pair of goggles he'd had on at the time. Cyclops. Cyke. Heh.

Logan supposed he ought to be grateful that the man had kept him from being killed yesterday, but he was pretty sure he couldn't be killed anyway.

Besides, gratitude had never really been his thing.

Guy looked like he had a stick up his ass, anyway. Stuck to the rules like his life actually depended on it, jaw set in a stern line. Besides, he also had that smoking hot wife that he was apparently not in the mood to share. Well, that was _fairly_ normal, actually, but guys shouldn't be quite that stingy with women like that, should they, especially when their wife sure didn't seem to have a problem with it. It was supposed to be a world of equality and all that shit, right? It should be her choice.

Heh, maybe he and this Scott guy needed to have a conversation.

In the classroom, Scott took a deep breath, and lifted his chin. He swallowed heavily, Adam's apple bobbing, and looked like he was steeling himself up. Abruptly, he turned to face his students, smiling like nothing was wrong and everything was just wonderful, and called on one of the students to answer a question.

Interesting.

Maybe mister rules and regulations was less mechanical robot than he'd thought.

He was a man struggling to keep in control.

It took Scott longer than Logan had expected, to finally catch his eye and realize that he was there. He'd heard people say before that the eyes were the window to the soul, say how hard it was to gauge expressions without eyes visible. The visual cues were enough, really – the other man's lips parted in genuine surprise, then his spine stiffened, as though trying to convince himself that he was still powerful and capable – but there were more than just those. Logan had no shame in admitting that he gauged things by scent, too, and Scott didn't smell indignant or jealous. He smelled curious. Inquisitive.

Even more interesting.

Logan pushed off the wall, and dipped his head at Scott, in greeting.

Scott's slightly open mouth closed with a snap, and he grinned to himself as he pushed off the wall and headed on down the hall. He was curious himself, now.

He'd have fun figuring him out.

\---

Part of what Scott needed, in order to maintain his control, was some kind of order. For that, a school was sort of the perfect place. Sure, it was a school for mutant children, and Scott often had to delve into that far more chaotic pursuit of saving people. But it was a school, all the same, and in the long run, he had class schedules and exam time tables and everything that a school consisted of, to bring order back to his life.

Usually, it was at night that things were the most calm, ordered, and controlled. The students were sleeping, the grounds were quiet, and all was still.

Until a terrified scream pierced the night air.

There was a clatter in the bed beside him, and Jean gasped, “What is that?!”

Scott had no idea, but his heart was pounding, so loudly that he could hear it in his ears, and with his eyes tightly squeezed shut, he scrambled forward to grab his glasses, jerking off his sleep mask – not just one of those little silky things, but instead a tightly constructed, quartz lined mask that had been designed specifically for him and his vision issues – and jammed the glasses on. Now that it was safe to open his eyes, he slid off of the bed, hurrying towards the sound of the scream. Teacher mode going full tilt.

There were children in the hallways, scrambling to find out what was going on, themselves, but he tried to guide them aside as gently as he could, before he reached the doorway of the room his wife had been setting Logan up in, earlier that day.

Scott would like to say that this situation looked worse than it was, but it looked pretty damn awful. The new girl – Rogue, was it? - sat on Logan's bed, eyes wide, skin pale, trembling as she stared at the bed. His gaze followed hers, and alighted on Logan, laying on the bed and staring up at the girl like he'd seen a ghost.

He'd thought 'animal', when he'd first seen Logan, yesterday, in the snow of Northern Alberta. A man devoid of control – and in no way concerned by that.

The man laying there, now, stunned and confused, wasn't out of control.

It was just a very different type of control than Scott was used to.

Rogue bolted from the room, hugging herself in her panic, and Scott didn't fail to notice the way that the students in the hall backed up, alarmed, trying to get away from her. His heart went out to the girl. Scott knew what it was like, having someone afraid of you for something you couldn't control.

Logan rolled out of the bed, moving to close his bedroom door, but Scott was already moving forward.

Slapping his hand against the wood of the door, Scott leaned in the small opening that Logan hadn't yet managed to close the door, and said, breathlessly, “Wait.”

Logan's eyes flicked to his, and for the first time in a very long time, Scott felt like he was actually being looked in the _eye_ , not just in the vague area of his glasses. People normally let their eyes skim over the glasses themselves, as though they thought he couldn't actually meet their eyes. He was just a mutant, not blind. “Fine. Get in here,” Logan grumbled, frowning.

 _What am I doing_?

Scott slipped into the other man's room, swallowing thickly. He hadn't noticed before, but the sheets were torn, and shredded, and there was blood on the fabric. Logan sat heavily on the edge of the bed, which creaked ominously. “What happened?”

“Kid poked her nose where she shouldn't have,” Logan muttered.

He leaned on the other's dresser, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Logan. “You destroyed your bed.”

“Take it outta my security deposit.” He snarked back.

“Look...” Scott didn't even know why he was here. He should be back in his bed, sleeping beside his wife, not in a veritable stranger's room, trying to figure out why he was so curious about _this_ man. “What happened?”

“She woke me up.” Logan said, and there was an edge of warning to his voice.

 _Don't push_.

But that was what control _was_ , knowing when to push, and when to back off. “What I need to know, Logan, is if you are going to be a threat to my students.”

The other's head snapped up, and Scott felt his spine stiffen as Logan bared his teeth at him. “I don't want to be here any more than you want me to be. But _you_ decided to haul me in, and your professor decided to string me along with promises about my past. If your students leave me the hell alone, I’ll leave them alone. Get out of my room.”

That would be smart.

It wasn't what happened, however.

“Logan, “ Scott said, trying to sound stern. Jean called it his teacher voice. “I don't know what you want here, but stay away from my wife.”

The other man growled, and stood. “And if I don’t?”

Scott didn't threaten. He just touched the arm of his glasses, pushing them back into place. Of course, they hadn't actually slid in the first place. He maintained his shield between him and losing control with almost obsessive care. Still, the message itself was clear. _I will stop you_. “Just stay away from her, Logan.”

The other man stepped closer, all but pinning Scott to the dresser. Any closer, and they'd be touching. “What, I thought you said I wasn't a threat, pretty boy. Thought you said you trusted your wife.”

“It's not her I’m worried about.”

It was supposed to come across as a confident statement, to sound like he was more concerned about what idiotic things Logan _might_ do, in pursuit of Jean. What it sounded like, though, was that he was jealous of Jean touching Logan. Fuck. That wasn't how he meant it to sound.

Even if it may, irrationally, be how he felt, at that moment.

Logan took a half step back, brows furrowed as he stared up at him, frowning.

“Just...” Scott fumbled. He had to regain control. “Just stay away, all right?” He shifted to slip out from between Logan and the dresser, but the other man moved faster than he would have expected, slamming his palms on the wood on either side of Scott, caging him in. Scott hesitated, trying to gauge the other's expression and finding it frustratingly hard to read. “What do you want, Logan?”

“Trouble with the missus?” The other arched a brow, and Scott tore his eyes from that arched brow to the arms that hemmed him in. He'd seen the x-rays, there was metal in those arms, like he was being held in a living wall.

“Not that it's any of your business, but things are just _fine_.” Scott said, tightly.

“Don't think I buy that.”

Logan suddenly stepped closer to him, until they were chest to chest, and said, lowly, “Then why are you here, Scooter?”

“I'm - “ Scott fumbled for an appropriate excuse. “Just making sure my students are safe.”

“Bullshit.” Logan pressed closer, until Scott was leaning back as far as he could, almost unbalanced. “I may not be a mind reader like your good doctor, Cyke, but I know a thing or two about people. _You_ are lying to me.”

“Get off of me,” He shoved at the other's chest, which had all the effectiveness of shoving a brick wall.

Logan caught his wrists, and grinned wolfishly at him. “What, afraid of losing control?”

_Yes. Of course._

He had to regain control, he had to get it back from this wildman who seemed entirely capable of destroying everything that he had worked so hard to maintain. Control was Scott's trademark. He needed it.

And right at that moment, as Logan squeezed his wrists so tight that he could feel the bones grinding against each other, Scott was completely out of control. He was so out of his depth that it was almost laughable, and he wasn't actually sure if he wanted his control _back_. “Let me go.” He said, again, though without force.

“Now, I don't think you want that.” Logan growled, then jerked Scott forward by his wrists, crushing their mouths together.

Scott wasn't quite sure you could call it kissing. It was more like a fight fought with just their lips, a crush of fury and passion and so much bottled rage that it was almost just violence. Violence that he threw himself into, until it was Logan that broke the kiss itself, just grinning when Scott tried to chase his lips with his own.

“Your wife is gonna wonder where you went.” Logan said, with a smirk.

It was like a bucket of cold water dropped on his head. Scott sucked in a sharp breath, as though seeming to just realize where he was and what he was doing – and who with – and stumbled back. Logan let his hands go, this time, without another note of protest, and just watched when Scott stumbled to the door.

Hand on the door knob, Scott hesitated, then lifted his head. “This never happened.”

“Whatever you say, One-Eye.” Logan shrugged, and settled on the edge of his bed with an ease that Scott almost envied. From the tone of his voice, Scott was fairly sure that this – whatever this was – wasn't over.

He fled the room.

Marching through the hallways of the once again quiet school, Scott paused by one of the windows to press his forehead to the cool glass, trying to still his racing heart. He had to push every thought, every emotion, every turbulent bit of confusion down, well below the surface thoughts that Jean could read without a second thought. Scott had to control this. A thousand nagging surface thoughts rushed in to fill the space that this major issue had taken up, and, his mind filled with useless trivia that served as a smokescreen for psychics, Scott headed finally back to his room.

Jean was half asleep when he slipped into bed, and lifted her head, sleepily. “Scott? Are you all right?”

“Yeah. It's all fine.” He lied, and tugged the blankets up over his shoulders, tugging on his sleep mask and closing his eyes, trying not to remember the way Logan's stubble had scratched on his jaw, the way the other's fingers had gripped his wrists, and forced himself to think of the mental equivalent of white noise. He couldn't let Jean hear this.

\---

“I don't have time for this.”

Logan wasn't actually terribly surprised by either the way that Scott Summers was trying to brush him off, nor the way that there was a red splotch of flush on either of his cheeks. Scott looked angry but he smelt embarrassed, and of course he didn't have time for Logan. He had class.

And a reputation to maintain.

Logan caught the leaner man's arm, and lowered his voice. “The Prof told me to come talk to you.”

The unabashed shock that flickered across the other man's face was almost worth it. It was almost like fear, almost like relief, and Logan figured that the other thought that chrome dome had gleaned something about last night from one of their minds. Logan had no idea if he had, and quite frankly, couldn't care less if he had. He was having fun wearing at the edges of Cyke's perfect little facade.

“So talk,” Scott said, voice tight.

“He seems to think your school is under 'imminent threat of attack',” Logan parroted the phrase that had been used that morning, smirking. “So he wants me to go over things with you, see if I know anything that might help you.”

The other sighed, a huff of breath. “Later.”

“School day's over, Cyke.” Logan countered. Unlike Scott with his stupid mask of maturity, he didn't care about control as needing to know when to stop pushing. Logan liked pushing. Nearly always got him results a whole lot sooner. “You don't need to teach anything the rest of the day. Why not now?”

“I have marking to do.” Scott said.

If that wasn't a lame excuse, than Logan had never heard one before. “I'll come with you, then.”

Scott's brows furrowed over his glasses. He was really starting to wonder what he looked like without them. “You would distract me from my work. Look, we can get together later, and - “

“Or we can get together now.” Logan said, not even taking advantage of the obvious double entendre, for once. “C'mon, time's a wasting while yer standin' here arguin', Cyke, we may as well just go and get it done with. C'mon, let's go.”

He knew where Scott's office was. Of course he knew, he'd stalked the school yesterday afternoon til he'd found it, and if it didn't look quite right anymore, well, that was the fault of some _other_ mutant with claws they'd shoved into the lock to break it. So Logan headed in that direction now, and smirked slightly when the other man sighed, and followed him. He was used to people trying to act all stern and stiff – hadn't he spent a good chunk of time in Japan, after all? Logan just knew he had to find the chink in the other's armour, then he could reach the man that was inside. Despite his posturing and desperate iron grip on his control, Logan was fairly sure that Scooter would be an _interesting_ man to get to know.

And he fully intended to get to the real man, the one under the glasses.

“Come in,” Scott said, when they reached the office. Logan had already seen it the day before, but it was a different place, with its occupant inside. It came to life.

It was a small space, wood-lined like the rest of the mansion-turned-school, but there were bookshelves lining the walls, filled with a thousand well loved books. There were a couple framed degrees, on one wall, and on the desk, a framed photo of Scott and Jean.

Logan scooped it up, ignoring the sharp look that Scott gave him, and considered it as he hopped up to sit on the front of the desk. As pictures go, it wasn't bad – they were standing in front of a flowering cherry tree, white petals drifting through the air like snow, golden light filtering through the leaves. Jean was smiling broadly at the photographer, all confidence and assuredness, and beside her, arm looped through hers, Scott smiled more sedately, avoiding the flashy displays of joy. They looked happy.

Enough, anyway.

Logan set the photo back down, but on its face, hiding them.

“Logan,” Scott started, reaching forward to pick it up.

He pressed his fingers on the back of the frame, holding it firmly in place. “Don't look at her when you're with me.”

Scott swallowed again, almost audibly. “I'm not with you.”

“Of course yer not.” He curled his fingers around the other's left wrist, tugging Scott forwards, slightly.

“Stop it,” Scott said, though he didn't resist. “I told you, that didn't happen, we cannot do this, I – I’m _married_ , and I’m frankly not interested, and...”

He trailed off, eyes falling to their hands. Logan was rubbing his thumb, idly over the bruises on Scott's wrists, fingerprints left behind from the night before. They were actually surprisingly dark, but he hadn't even noticed them. Just dull red on brighter red, nothing really to notice. But even Logan's light touch brought out odd twinges of pain, a dull ache every time the calluses would run over the tender skin. God, he hoped Jean hadn't noticed those.

“You don't look all that married at the moment.” Logan countered with a smirk.

“And what, exactly, does a married man look like, in your mind?” Scott shot back.

“Not like this.”

And then Logan was tugging him closer and pressing their lips together again. Only it wasn't fierce and desperate this time, it was almost gentle and smooth and Scott felt panic welling up in his chest. This was too much. It was too much like something that a man in love would do. Lust was base, lust was human, lust was...

Excusable.

Scott pressed forward, surging into the kiss, deepening it with fervour. It was just lust. Lust he could control.

Logan, apparently, had no issue with this.

Scott was dimly aware of the other moving on the desk, knocking half the contents of the desk itself off as he swung his legs around, and he half noticed when Logan tugged him closer, pinning his hips with his knees. His attention, however, was on the way Logan's hands rested heavy on his waist, on the way that Logan's mouth moved against his, on the way he swore he could feel Logan's heart beating through his chest.

He shuddered when the other's hands slid up his sides, and groaned softly. “Logan, wait...”

“You actually want me to stop?” Logan growled against his skin, shifting to kiss his way down Scott's neck. Those mutton chops of his brushed against his skin, and Scott found himself shuddering again, clutching at Logan's shoulders through his shirt. For once brief, insane moment, he wondered how long the red nail marks he must be leaving were lasting before Logan's mutation would heal them away. Seconds, perhaps? “Cause I don't think you want me to stop.”

“Of course I want you to - “

Logan, naturally, was very sure that Scott _didn't_ want him to stop, so he nipped at the tender underside of the other's jaw.

The needy, breathless sound that Scott made answered that question.

One of Scott's hands found their way to Logan's hair, fingers curling tightly in his short brown hair as though holding on for dear life, tugging as he ducked his head to stop the other's attention on his neck, and slammed their lips together again, kissing Logan like his lips were oxygen.

Logan's lips were both the poison and the antidote.

Scott was lost, and he knew it. No matter how much he might protest later, saying that he had just had a moment, everything was fine now, he knew it wasn't true. There was no going back after this, Scott's everything was going to have to change to adjust to what was happening now.

He wasn't sure he minded.

Logan's fingers were light on his jaw, holding him as he kissed him, still demanding everything without words.

But then Logan's fingers were on the side of his glasses, fingers squeezing the arms, as he tugged them off of Scott's face, and Scott reeled back. He was stopped by Logan tightening his knees on his hips, holding him in place. Panting hard, Scott stood there with his heart pounding and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. “What the hell is wrong with you?! Are you insane?”

“Maybe,” Logan smirked, and Scott could dimly hear the dull clatter of his glasses being set on his desk.

“Are you _suicidal_?” Scott demanded, feeling like he was unable to catch his breath again. Panic was making the control slip rapidly from his fingers, and he was clutching at the last traces of it, trying to hold on. It was useless, he could tell already. With the glasses went his grip, but he could try. “I can't control my mutation, Logan, I can't stop you from getting hit if you do something so incredibly _stupid_...”

“Worried for me?”

Logan's words drew him up short, and Scott tried to force himself to relax, though his eyes were still tightly shut. “No. Of course not.”

“Bullshit,” Logan said again, then his callused fingers were drifting over Scott's eyes, tracing the shape of his eyelids. This was intimate. Too intimate, it made him think of the times that Jean had done the same, and _that_ was something he didn't really want to be thinking about right now. Not with him. Still, he let the other man explore, biting his lip.

“What are you doing?” Scott breathed.

“Investigating,” Logan answered, and Scott audibly gasped when Logan pressed kisses to his lids. “Figured no one really ever got to _see_ you before.”

He flushed. “Give me my glasses.”

“I dunno, I’m enjoying this whole... you can't actually see me thing.” Logan was grinning. Scott just knew it, that ass was grinning at him. “Yer an attractive man, without that thing on yer face.”

“Okay, that's it,” Scott held out his hand, brows furrowed. “Give me my glasses.”

“Don't you trust me?”

 _Not particularily_.

“It's not you I don't trust.”

There was silence, for a long few minutes, then Scott sighed in relief as Logan slid the glasses back onto his face, almost gently. He finally opened his eyes, and blinked at the sudden influx of light, looking at the red-tinged man.

“Thank you,” Scott said, earnestly.

“We're not finished.” Logan said, and kissed him again, before swinging his legs off of the desk. “This isn't over.”

“I know.” Scott murmured.

\---

Logan wasn't sure he was surprised to discover that the impressive bike sitting in the garage was Scott's. If he had seen it a few days ago, he would have been confused – but after seeing the way that the other man was veritably chafing at the bit of the thin veneer of control he'd imposed on himself... he wasn't at all surprised. Not now.

He also wasn't sure he was surprised to discover this at three in the morning by finding Scott working on the engine.

“Couldn't sleep, Scooter?”

“No, not really.” The other answered, without once looking up from whatever he was working on. Logan had to wonder exactly how good this guy's senses were, that he wasn't even surprised by Logan walking up behind him. “Too much on my mind.”

He rested a hand, heavy, on the other's shoulder. “Am I any part of this too much?”

“As a matter of fact,” Scott leaned back to look up at him, and Logan was struck by just how tired the other man looked. Worn out. “I _did_ consider asking you if your legs were tired.”

Logan arched a brow.

Scott's attempt at a grin faltered a little. “Uh, you know, from running through my mind all night?”

“Oh, I know the line. Just never expected to hear it from you.”

The younger man flushed and ducked his head again, and Logan shifted his hand so that it rested on the back of the other's neck, instead. “Sorry, I’m a little out of my depth with extramarital gay flirting.”

“Big words for 'you want me'.” Logan smirked.

“I'm a teacher.”

“Not sure that actually gives you a pass on that.” Logan carded his fingers through Scott's short hair, tugging slightly, experimentally. Sure enough, the other's breath caught, and he leaned slightly into the touch. “So... you like this with every new mutant that comes along and offers, or am I just special?”

Scott's shoulders stiffened, but he didn't move away. “I've never done this before.”

“Guess I must just be special, then.” He grinned, tugging a little on Scott's hair again, just to remind him that he was there. “So this is your mistress, then.”

“Don't sell yourself short, Logan.” Scott said, voice almost mildly caustic. “You seem at least mostly male.”

Logan laughed. Couldn't help it – he liked his prospects with a little backbone.

Scott picked up a handy rag, wiping his hands as he twisted to look up at him, pulling free of Logan's grip. He let the other go. He didn't have to hold onto Scott to remind him which of the two of them actually had any control over this situation. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Looking for you,” Logan said, bluntly.

“How'd you know I’d be here?” Scott dropped the rag, and leaned back to look up at him. “It's not like I advertise my location.”

“You're fairly easy to find.” He shrugged, crossing his arms as he settled on the seat of the bike, looking down at Scott. Damn, he was impressed, the shocks normally didn't take his adamantium laced skeleton all that well. He'd actually broken a few in his time. “Especially for a mutant that tracks by scent.”

“And what, you've been able to hone in on mine?” Scott joked.

“Perfectly.”

He hesitated, and finally said, “Oh.”

Logan smirked at him, and said, calmly, “You've made a mark on me, Cyke. Ain't many people I let in. Just too damn dangerous.”

Scott scowled. “So what, I’m not worth trying to keep safe?”

“No.” He considered the sharp line of the other's clenched jaw, wondered if, behind those glasses, Scott's eyes were snapping with that delicious anger. “Because I know you're just as dangerous as me. Ain't safe for neither of us to be with each other. We're nitro and fire. Yet...” He spread his hands. “Here we are.”

The other swallowed. “That's a new way of looking at it.”

“It's the way I’ve looked at it since you told me you were jealous of _her_ ,” Logan said, shifting forward to slide his fingers back into Scott's hair. Bit of a perfect position, really, if you asked him. Him sitting on the bike, Scott on his knees at his feet... seemed perfect, to him. “You don't say that kind of thing to an animal and expect them to forget about it.”

“You're not an animal.” Scott said, automatically.

“You sure about that?” Logan countered, tightening his grip in the other's hair, actually tugging him a little closer. May as well make his point crystal clear.

“Very.” Scott hesitated for a moment, then set his hands on Logan's thighs, sliding his palms up, slowly. “You're a man. A very powerful man that seems very in touch with his more _primal_ side, but a man. A man who seems to know exactly what he's doing.”

Logan smirked down at him. “And you, Cyke? You know what yer doing?”

“Probably not,” he said, licking his lips, and began unbuckling Logan's belt.

\---

Scott had spent the last fifteen some years of his life with an iron grip on everything he had. His eyes, which got him ranked right up there with some of the most dangerous mutants of human history, commanded him, not the other way around. His mind was apparently more open to psychics and intuitives than others, so he had to learn techniques to hide things that he didn't want common knowledge to anyone that accidentally might brush his mind. Even his motion sense, which let him find targets and movement around him even if he was blindfolded, was more a fluke that he'd managed to tap into than something he actually deliberately managed. So he took control where he could, and forced the other parts of his life to fall in line.

The problem was, this kind of control depended very strongly on one thing.

Scott had to _want_ to keep it.

It took constant attention, fierce determination, and dedicated energy. If he wanted to keep from blasting out walls, he had to keep his glasses on. If he wanted to keep whatever it was he had with Logan a secret, he had to consciously struggle to keep it from Jean.

When Scott woke that morning, lying beside her in their bed, his mind was still filled with all the static he'd filled it with before he went to sleep. Defense mechanism.

He didn't want it anymore.

Scott took a deep breath, then started to peel away the metaphorical onion layers of his own mind.

Years worth of useless filler were stripped away, leaving him feeling naked and raw, even as he lay in bed, clothed, his blankets wrapped around his shoulders. It was utterly terrifying, but also liberating, somehow, all his emotions and thoughts laid bare, for any psychics that might want to wander in to see.

“Oh, Scott.” Jean sighed.

He tensed, and almost threw his shields back up. He'd built them for a reason, Scott had constructed walls in his mind for a purpose. But he kept them down.

It was too late, anyway.

Jean shifted so that her chest was pressed to his back, and she looped her arm over his stomach, splaying her fingers across his chest. “I haven't seen your mind like this in years, Scott. Since we first met, and you started learning to hide things from me.”

“You know what this means, don't you?” He asked, quietly.

“Of course I do,” Jean squeezed him. “This is the most honest you've ever been with me, Scott.”

“It's not good for - “ He fumbled.

“I know,” He could feel her forehead pressing against the back of his neck. Jean was holding him close, despite it all, and his heart ached. He didn't want to bare this, but he had to stop lying to all of them. “I know, Scott. But there are things... there are things in life that change. I knew, I’ve known all along.”

He stiffened in her arms. “ - how...?”

“You've never been able to hide from me.” She smiled against his skin. “I just let you think you could.”

“That's not comforting.” Scott murmured.

“You can't force truth, Scott.” Jean squeezed him again. “I'm not _happy_ , and we _will_ be having some long conversations, later, but... in the end, it's the truth that matters.”

“So you're... _not_ going to erase my mind?” Scott joked, lamely.

“Not now. I’ll hold convincing you that you're a frog in reserve.” Jean smiled against his skin, again. “Go. We'll talk later.”

\---

Logan knew that it was generally a good thing that he stay around the school and all, but he'd been restless, so he'd headed out into the city surrounding Xavier's Academy to see if he could find anything useful.

He didn't find anything.

Typical.

So he headed back to the mansion and up towards his bedroom, greeting Rogue when she caught his arm, smiling hopefully at him. Kid seemed to be settling in well. He'd told himself he'd stay just long enough to ensure that, then he'd be gone, but if Logan were entirely honest with himself, he knew he'd be sticking around for at least a little longer. He had a good reason to, now.

As he neared his bedroom, something seemed off, though.

His room smelled of Scott.

Scott, and burning.

He rested his hand on the doorknob, frowning, and searched with his fingers, feeling the twisted metal and burned wood that had once been the lock on the door. A good shove pushed the door right open, swinging inwards, soundlessly.

Scott Summers sat on his bed, apparently waiting for him.

Stepping almost lazily into the room, Logan swung the door shut, crossing his arms as he leaned on the closed door. “You broke my lock.”

“You broke mine, I’d call us even.” Scott answered.

He considered that for a moment, actually looking the other man up and down, assessing him. Finally, he flicked his eyes back up to meet Scott's, and said, “We'll call it a draw. So what can I do you for, Scooter?”

“I don't want to talk.”

“Right then.” Logan snorted, and kicked off his boots before stalking towards the bed. “You got something _other_ than talkin' yer lookin' for?”

“Yes.” Scott reached out to grab the other's wrists, and tugged him closer, hopefully. He tugged Logan right onto the bed, pulling him almost over himself, pressing his lips firmly to Logan's, wanting to bury himself in the other, wanting to lose himself.

Maybe it was time he lost some control.

 

\---

 

Logan had Scott pinned to the bed by his hips, holding the slighter man’s wrists over his head on the pillow, keeping him very firmly in place. But Scott wasn’t just placidly accepting being controlled – he was arching under him, pressing into Logan’s chest as he kissed the other man, furiously, as though combating the adamantium-weight, which was really an unfair advantage to use over someone.

“ _Logan_ ,” Scott gasped, arching up.

“You lookin’ for something, Scooter?” Logan growled back, rocking against him, and grinning against the other’s skin when Scott bucked up again at that, gasping.

“Of course not…” he panted, struggling to pull his hands free, fingers reaching at the air and not actually finding anything. Looking for purchase, and finding none. “Why would I ever be looking for anything, you’re just the biggest cocktease I’ve ever _met_ …”

Logan barked in laughter, and shifted to kiss Scott again, bruisingly hard.

Groaning into the kiss, Scott jerked his left hand free of Logan’s grip – Logan hadn’t actually really been trying to stop him from moving, really – and buried his fingers in the other man’s short, coarse hair, gripping tightly. He was quite content to continue kissing him, furiously, but his right hand – when had he gotten that one free? – was fumbling with the buttons of Logan’s plaid shirt, trying to get him free of it. After all, it was a measure of control, for him to be the one getting him naked, to be the one that was keeping everything balanced. He finally shoved Logan’s shirt off of his shoulders, and watched, panting, as Logan leaned back to pull it off.

A stranger, encountering them, might have not understood.

Scott was starting to think that he finally _did_ understand. Logan was in control of Scott, and Scott was in control of Logan. Neither was in control of themselves, not now, not anymore.

Logan shifted, so that he was straddling Scott’s hips, strong thighs tense and tight as he steadied himself over him, his plaid shirt tossed aside and leaving him shirtless. His muscular chest rising and falling as he breathed, he asked Scott, “You sure you want this?”

“If you ask me that again,” Scott panted, “I’ll blast you. This is… I’m _here_ , aren’t I?”

He grinned, and with a sound that reminded Scott of metal running on metal, three dull blue-metal claws burst out of Logan’s left hand, and he shifted to slide them under the hem of Scott’s shirt. Scott drew in a sharp breath – he’d been expecting cold, somehow. It _wasn’t_ cold, though, the metal was warm, almost too hot, and it reminded him that these claws were contained inside of the other man’s body, they were warmed by the other’s body heat. The smooth back slid along his stomach, then Logan flicked his wrist up, and cut smooth ribbons out of the middle of Scott’s shirt, tearing it into useless shreds.

“I liked that shirt,” he said, calmly.

“I like it better off of you,” Logan said, shrugging slightly, and flicked those claws again, and within moments, it was gone, and there was absolutely no way it would ever be recoverable.

“Let’s _not_ shred my pants.” He said, grinning slightly at Logan, and nudged at the other’s stomach. Scott got a little distracted for a moment, fingertips trailing over Scott’s muscles, then grinned up at him, and said, “Well, good to know I apparently make good choices when I’m doing foolish things.”

He snorted, and kissed Scott again, furiously.

Scott didn’t really remember losing his pants, or Logan losing his, but he didn’t forget the way that they were moving together, against each other, almost like they were competing against each other and almost like they were working together at the same time, both men desperately trying to reach the same goal. Fervor and passion, almost desperation.

Logan’s fingers found the frame of Scott’s glasses again, and tugged.

He closed his eyes tightly, and didn’t argue when the glasses were tugged right off, and he heard a dim clatter of his glasses hitting the far wall. Scott smiled faintly, and grumbled, “You better not have broken those, Logan.”

“We’re having sex, not running maneuvers.”

“I don’t know about _you_ , but these are definitely maneuvers,” Scott panted, grinning despite himself. He wanted to _see_ his lover, he didn’t want to have to press his eyes shut, but this was about _control_ , this was about keeping his own control, not about trusting something else to keep him together. This was about his _own_ control. Whatever this was, with Logan, this was losing control – so he had to keep his own.

There was movement over him, and Scott panted, “What are you doing?”

“You’re going to have to trust me, aren’t you?” He could _hear_ the other grinning, even though he couldn’t see anything.

“I don’t trust myself, why the hell would I trust you?” Scott countered with, fingers settling on Logan’s thighs, squeezing the muscular legs as he licked his lips. He _did_ have to trust Logan, because though his sense of space and movement was perfect, even without his eyes open, there were certain things he couldn’t do or see, he had to trust that Logan knew what he was doing. He just wished he could _see_ , could _know_ …

And then he suddenly knew what the movements had been leading to, and Scott almost threw his eyes open, almost blasted at the ceiling.

“Yer sexy when yer losing control,” Logan panted, as he shifted down, impaling himself on Scott’s cock.

“ _Logan_ ,” he groaned, nails pressing tight into the other’s leg, head pressed back into the pillows. “Son of a – god, why are you…?”

“Yer arguing?” He demanded, and rocked his hips.

Scott arched up under him, dragging his nails along the other’s thighs, leaving red scratches that faded in seconds that he never would have gotten to see anyway, glasses or no. Red on red, or darkness. Perhaps the darkness was preferable – he was lost in the touch, the taste, the sounds, the way that Logan’s thighs shifted under his hands as he lifted himself up and down again, the way that his own breathing caught every time that Logan did. He couldn’t throw himself completely into it, because he had to hold onto his last little clutch of control by keeping his eyes closed, but he was so _close_ to completely giving himself into it, that it was beyond _amazing_.

Logan’s hands shifted to run down Scott’s side, and he murmured, “If you could only see yourself…”

“Don’t want to see myself, Logan, I want to see _you_.”

“Without those glasses… you’re not naked.” He said, with a little growl to his voice. “I want to see you _exposed_.”

Scott arched under him, eyelids flickering slightly. “You’ve broken through, Logan… you’ve definitely… you’ve gotten me naked…”

Logan kissed him fiercely again, and Scott groaned.

He’d lost track of himself. His eyes were still closed, but every other note of control was gone. He just had to keep his eyes closed, that would have to be enough, it would have to be…

Clutching at Logan’s thighs, Scott thrust up into him, licking his lips. He felt almost desperately good, as though his whole body was on fire, as though he had sharp electricity running under his skin. All sharp edges and sweet sweat and scorching heat. Logan was so hot against his skin he almost thought he was being burned, and the man squeezed around him, hard and tight and so completely that Scott didn’t even see his own orgasm coming – it was torn out of him with a howl and a complete and total loss of control.

His control was gone.

And his eyes were open.

Red optic bolts punched through the ceiling and beyond, and if Scott was thinking, he would have closed his eyes, to try and prevent the destruction. But he _wasn’t_ thinking, he was utterly lost.

 

\---

 

When Scott finally came back to himself, the white fading from his vision, the world finally making sense again, he blinked to realize that he was looking up at the world through red quartz again. His glasses were on. His glasses were on – and he was staring up at a massive hole that had been torn out of the ceiling, and when he tilted his head, he could see straight through to the roof, then the starry sky beyond. “Oh god…” he breathed.

“That’s one way to look at it.” Logan smirked, and he glanced over at the other, a little startled to see him there. Of course he knew Logan was _there_ , it was just sort of a disconnect.

Scott reached out to brush his fingers over Logan’s collarbone, and murmured, “Did I get you?”

“Oh, I _definitely_ got off.” He grinned.

Narrowing his eyes at him, Scott said, very seriously, “I mean, did I hit you when I blasted out the ceiling?”

“Yeah.” Logan shrugged, but he was still smirking as he rested his hand heavily on Scott’s hip. Scott couldn’t see them to tell, but he was pretty sure that he had scattered bruises, now, from their passion, but he didn’t actually mind. “Yeah, you got me, but I heal fast. And, because I know yer _gonna_ worry about it, I don’t smell any other blood. Don’t think you killed anyone.”

Scott huffed, and swatted at his lover – he _was_ his lover now, wasn’t he? – as he did, closing his eyes behind the glasses. It had been _freeing_ , to not wear them, even for just a few minutes. “That’s not _comforting_ , Logan, I _destroyed the ceiling_.”

“But no one’s going to be angry at you.” Logan said, and it didn’t sound bitter. It really _didn’t_. “Accidents happen, Cyke, and you lost control. Everyone _will_ understand.”

He groaned. “So what, tell them I blasted a hole in the school because I lost control while having _sex_ with you?”

Logan grinned, and the kiss that he pressed to Scott’s lips was light and gentle. It wasn’t angry and desperate and passionate anymore, the kiss was almost too affectionate, almost too nice – and this time, Scott didn’t try to push it off or make it into something else. Fuck control. He didn’t need to _control_ this anymore.

Frankly, Scott wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to try and control this anymore.

“Not very animal-like, Logan,” Scott murmured, against his lips, and grinned when the other broke the kiss to laugh.

“Bullshit,” Logan answered. “I found a scent I liked, tracked them down, then stalked and hunted them until they started to listen when I told them things… then we rutted in an absolute animalistic display of passion, and _now_ , this animal is planning on keeping his conquered target around. You know, for more sex.”

“That is the biggest lie you’ve ever told me.” Scott said, and kissed him again.

“I only lie about the important things.”

“Right.” He sat up, and patted Logan’s shoulder. “Now, we need to go figure out what the hell we’re going to do about that ceiling. Because the Professor – despite your crazy theories – is _not_ going to be happy about the roof. Now, we are going to go face the music. _Together_.”

Logan scoffed, but slid off the bed, grabbing his pants. “Want to admit to the whole school yer ‘extramarital gay affair’?”

“Yes.” Scott said, without hesitation. “I’m done with control.”

The other man just grinned. “I like the sounds of that.”

 

 


End file.
